ER

When people have to go to the Emergency Room, they generally don’t have a plan. They come with what ever they have on them, or what they could grab before they left. If you go at night, pajamas with coats seems to be the general patient uniform. During the day it’s a combination of workwear, day wear and pajamas.

This being my second trip to the ER in the last 72 hours, I did come prepared. After I called my husband to come back from his way to work, I grabbed my teal Jansport backpack that serves as my go bag. I added some snacks and my current meds, then grabbed a portable battery to charge the phone, just in cases.

When you go to the ER with chest pains, you’re a little higher on the list. Since there were no medics coming at me like clowns coming out of cars after my ECG, I figured I’m mostly good on that front.

While waiting, another patient who waited with me on the last trip appeared. “Welcome back,” I said riley. She smiled in recognition. We were both veterans now. After she registered, she sat with myself and my husband. One of her limbs was a gruesome shade of blue. But she said at least her pain was down.

My own symptoms were in a management status as well. I wasn’t nearly as miserable as the last time, but the symptoms were merely being managed. They were not necessarily decreasing. I was in the grey area where a full 48 hours of antibiotics was yet to be reached. Apparently, that’s how long it takes for these things to kick in. I’m not sure what happens after the 48 hours.

We got there at a good time. The waiting room filled over the next three hours that we waited for a nurse to call my name. And then I went to the room where less critical patients wait.

As a veteran of this ER, I understood the process. You get accessed, they figure out a treatment plan, execute the plan and send you on your way. Today, the room was filled with non veterans.

A young girl came in with a band-aid on her forehead. She was confused.

“So what happens in here?” She asked.

I explained the process.

“I just need some stitches.” She replied.

I told her about the the value of superglue in the kitchen. I think I confused her more.

After a while, she was thirsty and hungry. I told her she could ask for water, but when she looked wearily at the very busy nurses, I reached into my backpack for a juice box and gave it to her.

After I was accessed, my process went as expected: tests, images, some more meds, IV fluids, and an outcome that I’m not dieing, which was what I felt like when I got there.

I still have meds at home to finish up, but I still feel like I just got off a double round of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The first round was the illness that flattened me in a way I’m not accustomed to. The second round was the total of 18 hours in the Emergency Room.

It seems that a lot of what they do in the ER is accute care. Sometimes, people need some extra support in healing. ER’s are habitually backed up with people waiting for beds on the wards, so add that to their load. Then add population growth, substance abuse, an ever aging population… you get the idea. The compiling complexities are substantial. And, it’s a problem that must be fixed while it’s in motion. It’s not an enviable task.